


if all you told was turned to gold, if all you dreamed was new

by ronniesshoes



Series: 30 Days of OTP [3]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Couch Sex, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 05:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19166725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronniesshoes/pseuds/ronniesshoes
Summary: roger is reluctant to go home/on the couch





	if all you told was turned to gold, if all you dreamed was new

"Are you coming, darling?" Freddie calls from the doorway. He's clad warmly in fur coat and boots, and the lower half of his face is obscured by a thick scarf, his glove covered hands buried deep in his coat pockets. 

Roger opens one eye. "Gonna stay here for a bit, I think." He snuggles deeper into the couch. "If Brian don't mind."

"Of course not," Brian says, voice faint. 

"You don't want a ride?" John asks, reappearing with his boots and unbuttoned coat on.

Roger makes a noncommittal noise. John stares at him, unimpressed. 

"Can't be bothered to get up," Roger says eventually, "I'll figure something out. Might kip on the couch."

John glances at him. Brian shrugs in a what-can-you-do manner, and John shakes his head as if to himself but doesn't comment.

"Don't keep him up too long, poor dear needs all the sleep he can get," Freddie says like Brian isn't standing right there. "Fuck, it really is freezing."

"Get home safe," Brian says, rubbing his arms in an attempt to ward off the cold breeze coming from the hall. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Don't let him keep you up," Freddie says, "get some sleep."

"I will," he promises. "Goodbye, Fred, John."

Brian closes the door and stands in the hall for a long moment. When he returns to the living room, Roger is still on the couch, eyes closed, and his heart skips painfully. 

He sits down at the foot of the couch, watching Roger until he opens his eyes and smiles. Brian runs a hand up Roger's leg, and Roger stretches. His shirt rides up a little, showing off pale skin and a tantalising patch of hair disappearing into the front of his jeans. 

Brian moves slowly, carefully, as he climbs on top of Roger. He slots one leg between Roger's and the other between Roger and the couch. He looks down at Roger, and Roger licks his lips, meets his gaze steadily. A slow blink shows off his long lashes, and when his eyes open again, his pupils are dilated for a second before they return to normal.

"I'm glad they left," Roger whispers, and Brian can feel his warm breath on his face, can smell the wine and the biscuits they've consumed. 

"Me too," Brian says and kisses him.

It's all slow, honeyed pleasure then; kisses that last so long Brian forgets himself and the sweet pressure building in his groin. He can feel Roger grow hard beneath him, and when they break apart, Roger's lips are shiny-swollen and Brian is panting.

Roger tugs at his shirt, unbuttons it with deft fingers, fumbles with his belt. Brian exhales, long and messily. Roger's hands on him are warm and exciting, and Brian helps him shrug out of his clothes until they're both nude. 

Reluctantly, Brian untangles himself from Roger to find the lube. It's not in the usual drawer so it takes a while to find, and he thinks of Roger waiting on the couch and gives his cock a frustrated squeeze. When he returns, lube in hand, he dips his head down to kiss Roger again before he's even properly settled—he cannot get enough of this, can't get enough of Roger. 

His fingers slick with lube, he fingers Roger open with practised ease. He remembers their first time together, limbs loose with alcohol and their fingers fumbling, remembers how tense Roger had been and how Brian had stopped for a moment, asked if this really was what Roger wanted, how sick with guilt he'd felt the day after, but how he kept gravitating towards Roger and still does, and he can't help looking at him, can't help touching. 

He slicks up his dick, shudders at his own slippery fist around himself, and Roger is looking up at him with a lazy smile, urging him to get on with it, one leg on the the backrest of the couch, the other bent and pressed against his chest. It's heaven when Brian slides in, hot and slippery, and Roger groans out a filthy sound, his arms sliding around Brian's neck, lips searching his own. 

They move together, slowly, like they've got all the time in the world, like they aren't on Brian's couch at 11 in the evening after a drawn out Scrabble game and two glasses of red, like this isn't something new, like it isn't a secret anymore, and Brian's skin is burning, the sweet-slick pressure around his dick as he slides almost all the way out again too much. Roger is laid out beneath him, and Brian has to draw back from their indulgent kisses every so often to just  _ look _ , to take in Roger's eyes, his flushed cheeks and the hair sticking to his forehead, darkened with sweat, the breathless smile Brian can't help but return, then the pink lips pulling together to form an 'O' when he nudges Roger's prostate. He wants to draw this out as long as he possibly can, and he nips kisses along Roger's jaw, down his throat, latches onto a collar bone, breathes against the sticky-hot skin as Roger's hands tighten on his back. It's all sweetly burning pleasure building at the base of his spine, and then Roger relaxes completely beneath him, takes it with soft sounds coaxed from the back of his throat, one arm dangling from the couch, the other coming up to brush over Brian's cheek. Brian turns his head to press a kiss to his palm, relishes the faint smile on Roger's lips, slows down his pace so much it's unbearable. Roger's hands come up to press against his shoulders just as he draws back, and Brian loses his balance and tumbles off the narrow couch.

Heart racing but otherwise unharmed, Brian looks up at Roger who's peering down at him, a slightly confused look on his face but with twitching lips.

"Alright?"

"Did you just push me?" Brian asks slowly. He's not sure why he's currently lying naked on his living room floor when seconds ago, he was trying to hold off his orgasm.

Roger snorts. "Sorry. Didn't mean to make you fall." He slides off the couch and crawls on top of Brian. "Wanna ride you."

"Use your words next time," Brian says, but he's not too mad, not when Roger is grabbing his dick and slowly sinking down, centimeter for agonising centimeter, not when the slow rocking makes his eyes roll back in his head, not when white-hot pleasure washes over him in waves and Roger paints their chests and stomachs sticky-white.

Roger falls forward like his strings have been cut, damp forehead coming down to rest against Brian's shoulder. Brian slides a hand over the small of his back, draws lazy circles with his fingers, pleasantly dizzy from the force of his orgasm. After a minute, Roger unpeels himself from Brian's shoulder and sits up. He looks tired and well-fucked, and he winces slightly as he slides off Brian's cock. Brian grabs his wrists and pulls him down to brush a kiss over his lips. 

The floor is chilly and their skin rapidly cooling, but Brian can't be bothered to move. The blanket that had previously been draped over the armrest of the couch has fallen down, and with a bit of a stretch he manages get hold of it with his foot and slide it close enough that he can grab it and drape it over their entangled bodies. 

"I hope you plan on getting us to bed," Roger says, but he's yawning, and when Brian turns his head to kiss him, he has already drifted. 


End file.
